style="font-size:15px;"> An upright stone in the burial ground at Hartwith Chapel, in Nidderdale, Yorkshire, bears the following inscription:—
In memory of William Darnbrough, who for the last forty
years of his life was sexton of this chapel. He died
October 3rd, 1846, in the one hundreth year
of his age.
“Thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried in a good old age.”—Genesis xv. 15. The graves around for many a year Were dug by him who slumbers here— Till worn with age, he dropped his spade, And in the dust his bones were laid. As he now, mouldering, shares the doom Of those he buried in the tomb; So shall he, too, with them arise, To share the judgment of the skies.
An examination of Pateley Bridge Church registers proves that Darnbrough was 102 years of age.
An epitaph from Saddleworth, Yorkshire, tells us:—
Here was interred the body of John Broadbent, Sexton, who
departed this life, August 3rd, 1769, in the 73rd year of his age.
Forty-eight years, strange to tell,
He bore the bier and toll’d the bell,
And faithfully discharged his trust,
In “earth to earth” and “dust to dust.”
Cease to lament,
His life is spent,
The grave is still his element;
His old friend Death knew ’twas his sphere,
So kindly laid the sexton here.
At Rothwell, near Leeds, an old sexton is buried in the church porch. A monumental inscription runs thus:—
In memory of Thomas Flockton, Sexton 59 years, buried
23rd day of February, 1783, aged 78 years. Here lies within this porch so calm, Old Thomas. Pray sound his knell, Who thought no song was like a psalm— No music like a bell.
At Darlington, there is a Latin epitaph over the remains of Richard Preston, which has been freely translated as follows:—
Under this marble are depos’d
Poor Preston’s sad remains.
Alas! too true for light-rob’d jest
To sing in playful strains.
Ye dread possessors of the grave,
Who feed on others’ woe,
Abstain from Richard’s small remains,
And grateful pity shew;
For many a weighty corpse he gave
To you with liberal hand;
Then sure his little body may
Some small respect command.
The gravestone bears the date of 1765.
Further examples might be included, but we have given sufficient to show the varied and curious epitaphs placed to the memory of parish clerks and sextons.
TYPOGRAPHICAL EPITAPHS.
Our first inscription is from St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, placed in remembrance of England’s benefactor, the first English printer:—
To the memory of
William Caxton,
who first introduced into Great Britain
the Art of Printing;
And who, A.D. 1477 or earlier, exercised that art in the
Abbey of Westminster.
This Tablet,
In remembrance of one to whom the literature of this
country is so largely indebted, was raised,
anno Domini MDCCCXX.,
by the Roxburghe Club,
Earl Spencer, K.G., President.
The next is in memory of one Edward Jones, ob. 1705–6, æt. 53. He was the “Gazette” Printer of the Savoy, and the following epitaph was appended to an elegy, entitled, “The Mercury Hawkers in Mourning,” and published on the occasion of his death:—
Here lies a Printer, famous in his time,
Whose life by lingering sickness did decline.
He lived in credit, and in peace he died,
And often had the chance of Fortune tried.
Whose smiles by various methods did promote
Him to the favour of the Senate’s vote;
And so became, by National consent,
The only Printer of the Parliament.
Thus by degrees, so prosp’rous was his fate,
He left his heirs a very good estate.
Another is on a noted printer and bookseller in his day, Jacob Tonson, who died in 1735:—
The volume of his life being finished, here is the end of Jacob Tonson. Weep, authors, and break your pens; your Tonson, effaced from the book, is no more; but print the last inscription on this last page of death, for fear that, delivered to the press of the grave, he, the Editor, should want a title. Here lies a bookseller, the leaf of his life being finished, awaiting a new edition, augmented and corrected.
The celebrated Dr. Benjamin Franklin imitated the above, and designed it for himself:—
The body of B. Franklin, Printer, like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here, food for worms. But the work shall not be wholly lost, for it will, as he believed, appear once more, in a new and more perfect edition, corrected and amended by the Author. He was born Jan. 6, 1706. Died———, 17—. B.F.
Franklin died on the 17th of April, 1790, aged eighty-four years. After the death of this sturdy patriot and sagacious writer, the following singular sentiment was inscribed to his memory:—
Benjamin
